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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901954">The First Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixia_ixora/pseuds/ixia_ixora'>ixia_ixora</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ASIP Divergence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, One Night Stands</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:42:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,477</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901954</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixia_ixora/pseuds/ixia_ixora</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock’s breathing was the only sound in the flat. His arm was laying over John’s chest and his naked body radiating of warmth. John considered to stay, but he knew he needed to go."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaTheGreekGoddess/gifts">OpheliaTheGreekGoddess</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first fic, critisism is allowed (please comment if you notice any mistakes so I can correct them). Thanks to my beta opheliathegreekgoddess</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock’s breathing was the only sound in the flat. His arm was laying over John’s chest and his naked body radiating of warmth. His face was mushed into the pillow and his dark hair splayed around his head. John considered to stay, but he knew he needed to go. He wriggled out of the embrace and got out of bed to find his clothes. John picked up his pants but froze when he heard Sherlock move. He held his breath and turned around. When he saw Sherlock still fast asleep, he let out his breath. He picked up a shirt he didn’t remember throwing at the floor and walked out of the bedroom. There was a trail of clothes in the hallway up to Sherlock’s room. <em>At least they hung up their jackets,</em> John thought as he walked past the door in the kitchen. He bent down to pick up Sherlock’s dress trousers and laid it over the back of a chair before he walked into the living room. There were two empty whiskey glasses on the table by the sofa, which also had Sherlock’s dress jacket on it. John found his trousers behind the sofa, and the shoes by the fireplace. Clothes were scattered all over the room which brought John vivid images of Sherlock pushing him against every surface of the flat.</p><p>John shook his head and tried to get the images out of his mind. He shouldn’t be here. He hadn’t intended to get that drunk. John picked up his sweater from the black leather chair. He put on his trousers and listened to the sound of the city waking up outside of the flat. He put on his shirt and went to the window, looking out on the street. As he was buttoning up his shirt, he heard someone behind him. He dropped his hands to his side and slowly turned around, his shirt only buttoned up halfway. When John had fully turned, he met the eyes of the tall man. He was wearing a navy-blue robe, the belt tied loosely around his waist, and his hands in the pockets. His hair was tousled, and wild. Sherlock had just woken up, but his eyes were already scanning the room at a high speed. His gaze ended on John’s chest, and John could feel his stare boring into him, but seconds later he looked up at his face. The two men held eye contact for several moments before John tried to open his mouth to say something. He didn’t know what to say so he closed his mouth. Sherlock cocked his head a little to the side before he asked, “Are you leaving?”</p><p>Sherlock’s question lingered in the air. John didn’t know what to say without hurting his feelings. He felt stupid just looking at Sherlock, so he turned his head down. John could hear Sherlock’s bare foot tapping impatiently on the floor. Sherlock didn’t wait longer for an answer and went over to the kitchen bench to put on the kettle.</p><p>John tried to come up with an explanation, but ended up sighing and said, “I can stay, if you like”. Sherlock’s eyes lit up, and a small smile was on his lips. “But I have work at 10 so I can’t stay for long”, John said. Sherlock nodded and turned to put on the kettle. John quickly buttoned up his shirt and followed Sherlock into the kitchen. He sat down on one of the chairs seated at the end of the table. John pushed away a couple of newspapers so he could lay his hands on the table. There was laboratory equipment on the opposite end of the table, and John had a vague memory of Sherlock pushing away said equipment to make room for John on the table. He shook his head as a cuppa was put in front of him. John looked up at Sherlock and smiled a little before taking a sip from his mug. Sherlock sat down beside John and wrapped his fingers around his own cup. John tried to avoid eye contact, but Sherlock kept his gaze on him. John averted his eyes and cleared his throat. He caught sight of the newspapers he had just pushed away. He grabbed one of the papers and held it up in front of the Sherlock.</p><p>“Terrible case, this thing”, John said trying to start a conversation. Sherlock looked up, his eyebrows raised, his lips still on the mug. He looked at John first before his eyes went to the cover of the newspaper. “Weird how they seem linked. Although the police haven’t found a link.”</p><p>“Hmm”, Sherlock acknowledged. “Not suicides though.” Sherlock took a dramatic pause. “They’re murders.”</p><p>John put down the newspaper and wrapped his fingers around the cup to warm his hands. “Wait, so you are a detective?” he asked. “Working down at the Yard?”</p><p>Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes. “God no.” Sherlock raked a hand through his untamed locks before he continued, “please don’t associate me with them in the future.”</p><p>John looked at Sherlock, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t. “So, you aren’t a detective?”</p><p>“Yes, I am, a consulting detective. The only one in the world, I invented the job.” Sherlock’s hair had fallen back down on his forehead and when he pushed it away his robe slid down his arm and John got a glimpse of a muscular arm. He forgot Sherlock’s bizarre job as his brain filled with pictures of Sherlock arms wrapped around him last night. Sherlock noticed John looking at him and he stared back while holding his pose.</p><p>“Problem?” Sherlock asked, bringing his arm back down. John registered Sherlock’s words and cleared his throat. “Erm, no, just, um.” John waved his hand to indicate what Sherlock had just told him. “What does that mean?” John asked, “The consulting thing.”</p><p>Sherlock took a sharp breath before he spoke, “It means when the police are out of their depths- which is always- they consult me.” Sherlock gave John a stern look and John cringed in his seat.</p><p>“I don’t have any cases right now”, Sherlock continued, “I’m trying to keep a clear schedule in case there’s any development on this case.” He nods towards the newspaper John had held up a minute ago.</p><p>“Okay”, John started slowly, “if I get this right.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s statement. John ignored him and kept going. “You are a detective, but you don’t work for the police. They just consult you?”</p><p>“Yup”, Sherlock answered, popping the p. He could see the wheels turning in John’s head and waited patiently for John to form his question.</p><p>“But”, John started, his eyebrows drawn down and his eyes on the mug in front of him. He looked up at Sherlock and scoffed.</p><p>“The police don’t consult amateurs”, he finishes. Sherlock looked at John sharply.</p><p>He put down his mug a little harder than necessary and leaned back in his chair. Then folded his hands in his lap. His eyes scanned John’s body and John froze. Sherlock’s eyelids were lowered and his lips slightly parted. John could feel his left hand shake a little, so he clenched it against his thigh. He bowed his head and saw his knuckles turning white. John tried to loosen his fist but there was too much tension in the room for him to relax. When he looked up Sherlock had leaned forward in his seat and was looking John directly in the eyes. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Sherlock sat back again and reached out to his tea mug. He wrapped his fingers slowly around the handle, and John couldn’t take his eyes away from Sherlock’s hand. <em>Fuck, </em>John thought, <em>this isn’t supposed to be sensual. </em>When Sherlock started speaking, his voice was as calm as the sky before a storm. John ripped his eyes from Sherlock’s hand and lowered his head at Sherlock’s voice.</p><p> “Afghanistan or Iraq?”</p><p>John’s head jerked up, so he was looking at Sherlock again. Sherlock took a sip from his tea while waiting for John to answer his question.</p><p>“Sorry?”</p><p>John didn’t remember telling Sherlock anything about his time in the military.</p><p>“Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock repeated. He had one hand around his mug and other was situated delicately in his lap. His back was straight as if the question was completely valid.</p><p>“Afghanistan”, John answered. “How did you know that?”</p><p>John kept looking at Sherlock and could feel himself getting tense. What had he gotten himself into? John looked at his wristwatch and noticed that he should probably get going to catch his tube.</p><p>“You know what, I don’t need to know. I probably told you that yesterday or something”, John said and rose from his chair. He took his jacket down from the back of the door and shrugged it on. He turned to Sherlock and clasped his hands behind his back.</p><p>“It was nice”, John started and took a breath. “to meet you,” he finished in a lower voice.</p><p>Sherlock let go of his mug and pushed himself up from the chair. He reached his full height and John had to tilt his head upwards to meet Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock took a long step forward, so close John could feel his breath landing softly at his face. John felt his own breathing getting irregular as Sherlock studied his face.</p><p>Sherlock started speaking, “Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. When I met you last night, you smelled of disinfectant. So, army doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned, but not above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, not sunbathing.”</p><p>John opened his mouth but before he could say something Sherlock continued.</p><p>“You limped this morning, but not when I met you last night. And when you stand it’s like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic, wounded in action then. Wounded in action, suntan”, Sherlock tilted his head to the side as if this was obvious, “Afghanistan or Iraq.” Sherlock concluded, while looking into John’s eyes, but John turned his head. Sherlock took a step back and sat down in his chair.</p><p>“There you go, you see. You were right.” Sherlock looked up at the blonde and was clearly pleased with himself.</p><p>“I was right? Right about what?” John asked Sherlock, not sure where the conversation was going. He really should be going now.</p><p>“The police don’t consult amateurs.” Sherlock answered, his voice full of confidence.</p><p>“That”, John took a pause and moved his focus towards the table, “was amazing”, he finished with a nod. John turned his head and met Sherlock’s gaze. His eyebrows crunched together in surprise and a wrinkle forming itself between them.</p><p>“You think so?” Sherlock asked tilting his head to the side. His eyes moved over John’s face.</p><p>“Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite”, John took a deep breath. “extraordinary”, he finished. The corner of Sherlock’s lips barely moved upwards in a smile, but John noticed. As soon as the half-smile came, it was gone, and Sherlock was back in his intimidating demeanour.</p><p>“That’s not what people normally say.” Sherlock took a sip from his cup.</p><p>“What do people normally say?”</p><p>Sherlock’s hand paused mid-air and he smirked.</p><p>“Piss off.”</p><p>John broke out in laughter and had to put a hand on the chair beside him to keep his balance. Sherlock giggled and put his mug down. As the laughter died out, the awkwardness that had disappeared, reappeared. John forced a small chuckle and scratched the back of his head.</p><p> “Well”, John started, “I must go now.”</p><p>Sherlock crossed his legs and looked up at John, no signs of the giggle that had just been there.</p><p>“Right.” Sherlock paused. “It was nice meeting you.”</p><p>“Yeah, you too”, John said, not looking at Sherlock’s face. He zipped up his jacket and without another word he was out of the door.</p><p>~ ~ ~</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for all the comments and kudos &lt;3</p><p>And thanks to Ophelia for forcing me to sit down and write</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The door locked behind him as he pushed the strap of the laptop bag up on his shoulder. John patted his coat pockets, checking for keys, wallet, and phone. When he didn’t feel his phone in his right pocket he panicked and started patting down his whole body. John found it in the left pocket of his trousers and let out a sigh of relief, putting the phone where it belonged. He didn’t want anybody to see any messages from Sherlock. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If</span>
  </em>
  <span> he sent any.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John checked the door once more and rushed out onto the street to catch his tube. He couldn’t risk getting late after the last two times. Sarah had let it slide, but she probably wouldn’t three times in a row. He’d also ran out of excuses. He couldn’t tell his boss that he slept with a tall handsome bloke and now he couldn’t stop thinking about him, to that extent that it interfered with his daily schedule. So, the only thing left to do was to get going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tube rattled and the passengers jumped in their seats. Nobody looked up from their papers or phones. Taking the tube on a daily basis made one immune to the shaking. Every seat was full, and people were packed around the poles trying to hold on. There was the usual sustained cough or sneeze every now or then, and sometimes a person would speak on the phone, but except for that, everyone was silent and tired after a day's work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tube made a sharp swing and John accidentally hit the man behind him in the back with his elbow. John murmured a soft sorry to the man and tightened his grip on the pole. He pulled up his phone, for the fourth time, and checked to see if there were any new messages. </span>
  <em>
    <span>None, of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>, John thought bitterly. He should seriously stop thinking that much about a random bloke he just met only two days ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A young dark-haired man came to see him at work today, and for a minute John thought it was Sherlock. And it didn’t help that John needed him to take off his shirt. The young man had the same slim waist as Sherlock, but Sherlock had a more muscular chest, John remembered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, I remember an awful lot of that night</span>
  </em>
  <span>. After finishing with his patient he had to go to the loo, to will his erection to go away. But when a elderly woman with a rash came in next the erection was definitely gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A young girl nudged John, trying to make her way to the doors. John moved to the side, tightened his grip and zoned out again. He really missed Sherlock. It felt special being in his company. As if the man was above spending time with civilians. His body not for everyone to touch. Especially not the way John had touched it. Soft lingering touches, as if he was afraid that Sherlock might break if he pressed too hard. But then Sherlock had growled into his ear and turned them both over showing him how he really liked it. Although, that didn't stop Sherlock from liking it soft and slow. After they both laid panting side by side, Sherlock dragged his long fingers over John's abdomen, and up to his scar which none of them had mentioned. Sherlock had kissed it a few times, but hadn't asked anything about it, not even the morning after. John absentmindedly squeezed the shoulder with the scar and walked towards the door. As the door opened he used all his willpower not to adjust his trousers, and hoped that his jacket was long enough to hide the bulge in his pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock Holmes was, despite everyone’s belief, an incredibly lazy man. He walked out of his room in only a pair of pyjama trousers, trying not to give the two mugs on the table much thought. He hadn’t bothered to clean them up, and frankly he didn’t want to remove the only evidence that John had been in his flat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>John</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sherlock thought, saying the name over and over again in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock dumped himself down in his chair, in front of the fireplace, and reached for his laptop. He scrolled through his mail before jumping over to his blog. Mostly boring cases, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no one breaks the law anymore</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sherlock shook his head in disappointment and shut his laptop as he stretched out in his chair. He groaned and ruffled his hair. Suddenly Sherlock froze, an idea popping up, in his mind. He sat up straight in his chair and turned his focus to the screen again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took five searches before Sherlock found the blog of Dr. John H. Watson. It had only three blog posts; about his therapist forcing him to make this blog but nothing happened to him, so he didn't have anything to write. Sherlock scoffed at the thought of how boring that must be, living like that. There was no email address or mobile number on the page, but at least he found out what John’s full name is. Sherlock copied John’s name into the search bar and continued his search for a man who, for some mysterious reason, had caught Sherlock’s attention. Sherlock scrolled down until he found a page where John was listed as one of the doctors in a medical centre a short ride away from Baker Street. Sherlock was for once glad that he didn’t have any cases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shot up from his chair and into the bathroom, getting ready for a day of data-gathering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stalker</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a voice in Sherlock’s head whispered, but he waved a hand as if that would make the thought disappear. He entered the shower with mixed feelings and a clouded mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he stood in front of the mirror drying his hair, a message lit up Sherlock’s phone. Lestrade wanted to have him look at a crime scene. It was at least a five. Maybe this was fate telling him not to stalk, </span>
  <em>
    <span>observe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he corrected himself, John Watson. He finished dressing himself still unsure if he should go to the crime scene or the office where John worked. Sherlock started to button up his dress jacket but froze midways. What was he rambling about? There’s no such thing as fate or soulmates. John was just an insignificant person, amongst hundreds of insignificant people in his life. Sherlock flung his coat on and hurried out on the street to hail a cab to the crime scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mate, you’ve been checking that phone at least four times in the last three minutes. What are you waiting for?” Mike put up three fingers, waving them around to accentuate his point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John looked up from his phone and stared innocently at the man who still had his fingers up. He scoffed, trying to look unbothered as he put his phone in his pocket, and looked at Mike with raised eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” John asked, afraid he would have to bring up the fact that he had slept with a man. He didn't want Mike to know just yet, mostly because he himself wasn’t so sure about these feelings he suddenly harboured. John started to fidget with his beer glass, drawing lines in the condensation with his thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike saw John’s attempt to avoid the conversation but ignored it. “I’m not stupid, who are you expecting a message from?” He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward as if they were talking about John’s deepest secret. Which, in some way, they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. The pub was buzzing with people, so John leaned in and lowered his voice before he spoke. “Well,” John cleared his throat again, “I was on a date two days ago, and I was hoping for a message.” He scratched the back of his neck and rested his hand there. “Maybe schedule a second date,” John almost whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike started chuckling and leaned back in his chair. John stared at him, not understanding why he found it so funny. Mike’s laughter died and he took a swig of his beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mate,” he started and put down his glass, “you know chicks love it when you take the initiative. Just send her a message!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John swallowed hard at Mike’s assumption of it being a woman, but chose not to correct him. He glanced sceptically at Mike and a shadow of hesitancy crossed his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come one mate, just text her,” Mike pushed. He looked expectantly at John waiting for him to pull up his phone again. John sighed and did as Mike requested. He scrolled through his contacts, down to the letter s. Mike gulped down half of his beer, but was interrupted when John put his face in his hands and groaned loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forgot to get the number.” John’s voice was muffled behind his hands. He cursed at himself and raked his hands through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a bummer. I’m sorry John,” Mike said trying to comfort his friend. They sat in silence, each of them sipping the rest of their beer slowly. John thought about Sherlock and how he may never meet the man again. Never stroke his soft, curly, dark brown hair, grip his hips, or squeeze his arse ever again. He rested his head on his hand and wandered in his thoughts. So lost in thought that he didn’t realize that Mike was trying to ask him a question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, you were saying?” John apologized. He adjusted his chair and sat up straight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just asking you where you met her,” Mike said. “If you met her at a pub then maybe you will find her at the same pub.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s brain suddenly started working at full speed. Of course, Sherlock would probably be at the club where they met.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t do this often you know,” Sherlock said between the kisses he was giving John’s neck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Really?” John asked in a cheeky tone pulling Sherlock’s hair with one hand and the other on his hip pulling the taller man as close as possible.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I just couldn’t help myself this time,” Sherlock continued, now sucking on John’s clavicle. “You looked too handsome for just a blowjob in the loo.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>John snapped back into reality and put on his jacket. He picked up his laptop bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Mike, you are a genius.” He chugged the rest of his beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” John said, clapping his pal on the arm on his way out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John kicked off his shoes and threw his jacket on a chair the minute he entered his flat. He jumped out of his clothes and into the shower. After finishing his shower, he spent a great deal of time in front of the mirror. John looked at himself, his third attempt at styling his hair, trying to recreate his look from their first night. He turned his head asking himself if he was satisfied with it, but ran his hands through his hair when he decided it didn’t look good. John then turned on the tap and rinsed out the product he had used. While his hair was wet, he styled it as naturally as he could and didn’t bother with it anymore. He was already late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On his way to the bedroom he grabbed a banana and picked out one of his nicer shirts. He finished the banana and got dressed. On his way out he had to take off his shoes again and run to his bedroom to retrieve a condom from his nightstand, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just in case</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He put it in his back pocket and rushed out of the door to catch the tube.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The queue into the club was long but fast. John readied his id but didn’t need to show it, so he tucked it back into his wallet. He immediately went to the bar and ordered himself a drink, leaning back against the counter while scouting after the tall, slender man. He felt a bit out of place just standing there, not talking to anyone or dancing. And as that thought left his mind another appeared; in the form of a middle-aged man with a greying beard. The man placed one elbow at the counter, placing himself slightly too close to John. John tried to not squirm away, and instead coaxed his muscles to relax.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” John started, trying not to sound too flirty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man brought his head forward, smiling at him. John had seen that same smile many times before, and had even sported the same one a couple of nights ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” the man answered looking up at John from under his eyelashes. “I’m Mark,” he continued, clumsily reaching forward a hand in the small space between them. John took it and shook his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their hands parted and John took a swig from his drink. This could get very awkward very quickly, but luckily for him Mark started talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I haven't seen you here before," Mark said. "Are you new?" He rested his chin on his shoulder and smiled softly. "Maybe just come out?" he asked when John didn't answer immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Umm, well I was actually meeting someone here," John told Mark shyly, not wanting to offend him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mark raised his eyebrows. "Oh, okay," he said, not offended but John could see him trying to hide his disappointment. He felt sorry for him; he had been in Mark’s shoes before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well if it doesn't work out, you can find me on the dance floor." Mark winked at John and gave his bicep a squeeze as he walked away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John was relieved that the tension hadn’t been as awkward as he thought it would, and could now focus on his real task: finding Sherlock. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If he is here tonight,</span>
  </em>
  <span> John thought while slowly sipping his drink and scanning the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, that was tedious." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice was right behind John and low in his left ear. It startled him, his drink jostling in his glass because of the movement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John turned and in front of him stood the tall man, tight trousers, which John knew contained a beautiful arse, and a dark blue shirt stretched across the muscular chest. His hand was holding a drink lazily by his side. John’s mouth opened in surprise, but he closed it quickly when Sherlock started talking again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why did you not accept his offer? He was handsome, looked a bit like you," Sherlock said ignoring John's startled reaction. "He's an ex-army too." He looked down at John and took a sip from his drink. "Just like you," Sherlock said softly looking at John showing him that he hadn't forgotten their last encounter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I, I was looking for, um, you," John stammered avoiding Sherlock’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock let out a small oh. "I just thought maybe we could do something," John almost whispered, "like last time." He looked expectantly up at Sherlock. A smug smile crept up on Sherlock's face and he drank from his drink to hide it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That sounds like a lovely idea," he said and leaned in closer to John. John looked down at Sherlock's lips and wondered if they were going to kiss now. But before he could make up his mind Sherlock's phone rang. He took it up and made some distance between them. John's mind flooded with thoughts of doubt. He looked over at Sherlock. His eyebrows were raised in interest, and he made a low humming sound as he finished reading the text. Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket and downed his drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I gotta go," he said. John couldn't believe his ears. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hadn't he just agreed to hook up with me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And now he was leaving?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"O-okay?" John said unsure. He turned his face away so Sherlock wouldn't see his disappointment. "I guess I also should be going then," John said. He put his almost empty glass on the counter and walked towards the front door without checking if Sherlock was following. When John reached the door he looked behind himself but didn't see Sherlock. He felt a pang of sadness, Sherlock probably didn't want anything to do with him anyway. He walked out the door and tried to pull over a cab. The first drove right past him and stopped a few metres in front of him, where Sherlock now stood, wrapped in a long dark coat. John stood still, not attempting to hail a cab, while Sherlock entered his own cab. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car started driving and John looked down at the ground wondering if this maybe was for the best. When he decided to try to hail a cab again he was startled by a voice beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a doctor."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John turned and was faced with the tall detective once again. His cab by the sidewalk with one door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In fact, you're an Army doctor."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes," John answered and cleared his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Any good?" Sherlock asked and put his hands in his pockets, moving closer to John, just as last time when he deduced him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Very good," John said, not letting himself break eye contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seen a lot of injuries, then," he continued, glanzing out into the streets, eyes no longer on John. "Violent deaths."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, yes," John confirmed and nodded his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bit of trouble too, I bet," Sherlock said now looking back at John's face. John didn't dare look away from his mesmerizing eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course. Yes." John licked his lips and averted his eyes down before looking up again. "Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something sparkled in Sherlock's eyes and he suppressed a mischievous smile. "Wanna see some more?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, God, yes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John leaned back against the closed front door. He sank down, his feet stretched out in front of him. Kicking off his shoes, he let out a satisfying sigh, almost out of breath without even running. He felt the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, and a curtain of dismal fell over his mind; Sherlock just left him. John couldn't believe it. Although he was ashamed of admitting it, he did have fun on the crime scene. To see Sherlock deduce the corpse was just as brilliant as the time he had deduced John. His coat swirling around his slim, tall body, gloved hands working, looking for clues, eyes scanning at a rapid pace. John could've watched it forever, store it in his brain and pull out sometimes just to watch Sherlock in his prime element.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John put a hand over the left side of his chest and felt his heart rate fall back to normal. When it had slowed down and his breathing was stable, John put his hands on each side of his thighs and pushed himself slowly upwards. He could feel his limp coming back now that the adrenaline had left his body. John limped through the hallway and into his room to change. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If Sherlock hadn't run away from me, we would probably be running through the streets of London,</span>
  </em>
  <span> John thought, feeling even more melancholic. All he wanted to do now was to go to sleep and forget about it all. He wanted to forget about Sherlock, but he also wanted to remember this night forever. How they arrived at the crime scene, right after Sherlock had deduced about his brother (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Harry is short for Harriet</span>
  </em>
  <span>), and where he worked (</span>
  <em>
    <span>he must have looked that up</span>
  </em>
  <span>). How Sherlock had known about Donovan and Anderson's affair just by a smell of their deodorant. How the detective was, so obviously the superior being in the room. Everyone being drawn to him (at least John) as if he were the core of the Earth. John wanted nothing more than to solve crimes with Sherlock Holmes every night the rest of his life. But that wasn't possible. John laid down and closed his eyes, his duvet pulled tightly around him. Sherlock had shown that he only worked alone, and that would probably not change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John felt heartbroken, like he's never felt before. A loss of a friendship that could've been incredible. And maybe something more, John allowed himself to dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted his head, adjusting his pillow and layed back down again on his back. John’s leg was throbbing and he used the palm of his hand to massage the muscle in his thigh. When a weak pulse substituted the throbbing John focused on his breathing and stilling the tremor in his hand that had just started acting up. After a couple of minutes he flattened the duvet over himself, and placed his arms beside his body. John closed his eyes again and tried not to think about Sherlock Holmes; but failed miserably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~ ~ ~</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please feel free to leave a comment &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading, comments are always welcome!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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